Falling in to Nothing
by wbss21
Summary: A new series of murders forces Batman to seek help from the one man he hoped he'd never have to.  But is it a choice he'll live to regret?  My first Nolanverse story!
1. Chapter 1

**Falling in to Nothing:**

**Chapter 1:**

"Just six months following events involving the terrorist known only as the Joker, resulting in the deaths of 16 public servants, 14 police officers, including Gotham's once thought sterling, former District Attorney Harvey Dent and former Assistant District Attorney Rachel Dawes, a similar, but seemingly unrelated criminal has emerged, reeking havoc across both the city's underground networks and it's general populace.

Gotham's citizen's no doubt remember the intense, city wide panic resulting from the Joker's fear mongering tactics of intimidation. A reign of terror which finally met its end thanks in no small part to the Gotham City Police Force and the vigilante crime fighter known only as the Batman.

Since that time, in a highly publicized, public trial, the Joker was found mentally incompetent to stand trial and was sentenced, indefinitely, to Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, where he has been residing ever since.

But _unlike_ the Joker, this new killer has refused to show his face, instead making his moves in silence, quietly kidnapping citizens of this city, only for them to be found dead, days later, notes left on the bodies declaring their murderer Gotham's new owner.

Gotham's already weakened organized crime circles have been feeling the pressure as well, with several members of their various gangs having wound up dead, each victim found adorned with the very same message.

As of now, this mysterious killer has eluded capture and left GCPD confounded as to his identity and whereabouts.

Reporting live, Mike Engle, GCN."

/

"Open up. Cell block D." Sandy rapped his billy against the metal bars, calling through to Mike, who sat, working a control panel on the other side.

Mike looked up at him with questioning, and then his eyes shifted to behind the security guard, going slightly wide in surprise.

"Clown's got a visitor." Sandy informed, pointing his thumb back at the large figure standing behind him, draped in black.

Mike nodded, still staring unabashedly as he released the lock.

He watched as Sandy led the Batman through the secured door, the vigilante following closely as they each moved past his station.

He was amazed by the presence of the man, by the intensity coming from him. He seemed not a man at all even, but something more, something beyond this world.

And finally, the guard's intimidation got the better of him, and he looked away.

"This way." Sandy led. "We got him down in solitary, one level below. We thought _first_ we could keep him in with the rest of em' here, you know, our _violent_ ward. But this guy…" He shook his head. "He was too much, even for _these _psychos." He stuck his thumb back over his shoulder as they reached the elevator shaft. "Just _constantly_ gettin' in to fights. Stealin' plastic utensils from out the cafeteria, stabbin' other patients with em'. Crazy shit like that. I mean, the guys got _zero_ social skills. Just can't get along with _nobody_, insightin' tussles and riots, tryin' _on purpose_ to piss off the meanest mother fuckers in here, guy's twice his size, _just_ so's he could get in to it with em'. Guys fuckin' crazy. But you already know that." He laughed.

Batman said nothing as they got in to the elevator, and remained silent on there way down.

Sandy cleared his throat, feeling nervous.

He shot a glance over at the crusader, than brought his eyes back to the floor.

"You hear 'bout this new nut case been runnin' 'round Gotham?" He continued to talk. "Police can't get nothin' on the guy. I'll bet you can though." He grinned at Batman.

Batman stared ahead.

Sandy cleared his throat again.

"A-anyway's… Soon as he's caught, I bet any amount of money he'll wind up here." He chuckled. "Probly in a cell right next to laughing boy's."

Finally the elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors slid open with a creak.

"Just down this way." Sandy stepped out first, moving down a long corridor.

The lights in the place flickered in and out.

"Damn power surges." Sandy mumbled.

Batman remained silent, following behind, the sound of his cape dragging on the floor the only reply.

Sandy stopped at the end of the hallway.

"He's just down that way." He said, pointing to where the corridor shot off to the right, another long stretch. "Last cell on your left. You can't miss him. When you're done, just come back up the way we came."

The vigilante turned to head down, saying nothing.

"H-hey! You need me for anythin'?" The guard called after him.

No response.

Sandy watched him for a few, fleeting moments before turning away, letting go a shaky breath.

"Geez, I gotta get outta this city." He mumbled to himself, heading back up.

/

The Joker's cell wasn't a regular cell. Rather then a door and a barred window, as he'd seen with the rest of Arkham's inmates, the whole of the small space was fronted by clear, thick plastic, the only way in, and out, a door directly left of it, which led to another door, that one leading in to the cell itself. Each door was adorned by a heavy, electronic locking device, which could be opened only by card key and a fingerprint verification.

Batman assumed the reason for the cell's design was so its occupant could be observed at all times, without obstruction, both for the purpose of safety, for anyone charged with the patient's care, and for medical study of his behavior.

His assumption would be right, on both counts.

When finally he'd reached the end of the corridor and stood, looking in, he saw the Joker, lying on the room's cot, his hands folded behind his head, one leg with its knee bent, the other resting atop it.

"Joker." He said, his voice cold and filled with gravel.

For a moment the man inside the cell didn't respond, lying perfectly still, and the vigilante wondered if he'd been able to hear him.

But then the Joker lifted his head, just slightly, locking his eyes directly on Batman.

"Well hello there." He said, the faintest grin playing on his lips.

Immediately Batman felt himself tense at the sound of the madman's voice, that nasal timbre, the unmistakable, mocking tone, as though he knew some secret he refused to ever share.

His mouth inadvertently turned to a frown and he watched silently as the Joker sat up more fully.

The vigilante studied him with scrutiny.

He'd never seen the Joker so close without makeup before. Of course, like everyone, he'd seen the trial, watched the month's long process play out on TV like some damned soap opera, and there the Joker had been stripped of his greasepaint.

But to see him so close, in person without it, was something entirely different.

It was the first time Batman came to realize how absurdly _young_ the Joker was, and what a bizarre contrast that played with who he was and what he'd done.

For whatever reason, the detective had always assumed the madman to be _older_ then him. There was something about the way in which he carried himself, his demeanor which led others to assume he'd lived through a great many years experience.

But seeing him now, just feet away, washed clean of any face paint, Batman could see he was nearly just a boy. 26, 27 years of age, at the most.

He ran his eyes over the madman's features and, perhaps more contradictory still, he noticed then the Joker's good looks.

He was handsome.

Genuinely so.

Not simply the sort of attractiveness brought about by youth, but genuinely _good _features. He had the kind of face which, with age, would only grow more handsome.

Batman found it unnerving, and so he looked away, focusing his gaze on the one, glaring imperfection of the lunatic's visage.

His scars.

They were hideous.

_With_ the makeup, they'd been horrifying enough.

Without it, they looked so much worse.

Angry snarls of damaged, pink scar tissue, running up along his cheeks from the corners of his mouth, jagged and uneven and deep. And though, by then, they'd long ago healed over, still they gave the appearance of being swollen and tenderly painful.

The scar running fully down, across his lower lip and below it appeared much the same.

Someone, at some point, had done one hell of a number on the Joker.

Batman's eyes shifted then to the madman's hair, noting it had been washed clean of all its dye, leaving it a dirty blonde color. And it was cut short now, close to his scalp.

"Here you are…" He heard the Joker speak. "In full costume and me with nothing to wear."

The inmate pushed himself from the bed, standing, taking hold between his thumb and index finger his orange colored Arkham issued short sleeve, ruffling it.

"They've got such poor fashion sense here." He went on. "And look! No footwear!" He pointed to his bare feet. "I swear, you use your shoe to beat one, measly, and might I add _overpaid_ security guard's head in, and they take _everything_ from you." He placed his hands on his hips, looking dismayed. "Now Batman, I ask you, is _that_ justice?"

He stared straight in to the vigilante's face. And that was the one thing about the Joker the lack of makeup couldn't change.

His eyes.

They were as cold as Batman remembered, dark and unflinching and cruel… Unnervingly aware and intelligent.

Batman's mouth twisted in extreme displeasure.

Any illusions the Joker's appearance might have given about _what_ he was, once he began to speak, were quickly dispelled.

He _hated_ this man.

The Joker smiled, his scars twisting grotesquely, farther up his cheeks.

"And to what do I owe the _pleasure_ of your visit?"

This was the part Batman had been dreading.

Actually having to _converse _with the lunatic.

Last time he'd done so, he'd wound up riddled with feelings of guilt and self-doubt. He hadn't recalled feeling that helpless, or that utterly _useless_, since he was a child. Worse still, he'd been convinced that the death of all those people had been _his_ fault.

Just like his parents.

He didn't want to talk to this man.

Not again.

But he had little choice.

And that was the problem.

If he _didn't_ do this, if he _didn't _make this one sacrifice, he would have yet more blood on his hands. And that was something he was sure his conscience couldn't take.

"I _heard_ of Gordon's confession." The Joker went on. "Guess he couldn't bear the weight of that little, uh, _lie_ the two of you concocted. Or maybe it was the climb in criminal activity? All this town's low lives seemed to grow their balls back, the moment _you _disappeared, hmm? Either way…" The Joker suddenly stepped closer to the window, smiling. "They all know the truth now, don't they?"

He stepped away then, turning, his back now to Batman.

"Harvey Dent!" The Joker threw his hands out. "Gotham's _white knight_, it's people's one, _last_ beacon of hope, revealed to be nothing more then a bitter, hate filled _murderer_!"

He began to laugh.

All at once Batman felt his rage consume him and he fell forward, smashing his fist against the plastic.

The Joker glanced back over his shoulder, his hands still outreached.

"Temper, temper." He said, turning to face the crusader. "Don't forget now, you're _still _on thin ice. _Some_ people still want to believe _you_ did it. Don't give them reason to. I wouldn't want you ending up in a padded cell across from mine. At least, not _yet_." He grinned.

Batman huffed, stepping back from the window.

He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let the Joker get to him like this, not when he hadn't even gotten what he came for.

He breathed out, applying every calming technique he knew to relax himself.

"I need your help." He finally spoke, his voice low and controlled.

"_My_ help!" The Joker pressed his hands against his chest, his brows rising in astonishment. "_Now_ I've heard it all."

He walked forward, pressing his hands flat against the window, smiling.

"And what… _exactly_ is it you need my help _with_, _Batman_?"

The detective could feel his hatred eating him inside out, and he fought hard to control himself. Just _being _around the madman put him on edge.

"There's been a series of murders recently." He began.

"Ahhh, ha ha, ha." The Joker responded quickly, wagging his finger at the crusader. "So I've heard. I've _also _heard our mystery killer has the city in quite the panic, targeting the good and _innocent _people."

Batman's eyes went momentarily wide, surprised by the Joker's knowledge of the situation.

"You know?" He asked. "How? You have no access to newspapers down here, no internet or television."

The Joker shrugged.

"I have my ways." He said simply.

The crusader frowned.

"Then you must also know the killer's been executing members of the mob. The same gangs _you_ took over before being caught and put in here."

"Mmm." The Joker turned away.

"He says Gotham is _his _now. That he's its new '_owner_'."

The Joker said nothing to this.

"Do you know who it is?" Batman asked pointedly.

The Joker looked back over his shoulder at him.

"In a word…" He smirked. "No. But I'd sure like to find out!"

"That's where you come in." Batman said. "I need your help finding him."

The Joker turned to face him again.

"Now Batman, what could _I_ possibly do to help… What is it they call you now? The world's _greatest_ detective? I'm _sure _you can figure this one out on your own." He winked at the vigilante.

Inadvertently, Batman's hands clenched to fists.

"Whoever it is, it's clear they've taken their inspiration from _you_." He said, his voice a controlled growl.

The Joker's brow rose, sticking his lower lip out and raising his hands in puzzlement.

"And…?"

"We haven't been able to find him…" The crusader pressed, praying he wasn't forced in to outright _saying_ it.

He _knew_ the Joker knew what he wanted, but the lunatic enjoyed nothing more then to see him squirm, and would drag this out for as long as was possible.

"I'm sorry…" The Joker still held a look of confusion. "I'm not sure what it is you're asking."

Batman nearly lost it again, wanting badly to smash his fist against the madman's smug face.

Last time he'd done so, the Joker had only laughed.

He breathed deep, telling himself to stay calm.

"I need your help." He reiterated. "I need you to help me find him."

"Ohhh…" The Joker said. "I see." He began then to pace up then down the tiny cell. "You want _me_…" He placed his hand against his chest. "to help _you_…" He pointed to Batman. "catch the killer?"

"You understand how these people think. The way their minds work…" Batman began to explain.

The Joker waved his hand.

"Which is just your way of telling me _nicely _you think I'm craaazy." He looked directly at the crusader, smirking. "It's alright. Apparently, so do they." He pointed upwards, indicating the world above.

Suddenly he began to pace again.

"_So_… _you_ think, because I'm… _crazy_…" He stopped, smiling at Batman. "That I somehow possess some kind of _special insight_ in to the minds of _other _crazy people? And because of this _special insight_, logically, I should be able to deduce the killer's next move?"

"You've proven adept at manipulating the minds of the mentally unstable." Batman went on, his already tense body stiffening more. "That would indicate an intricate understanding of how their minds work."

The Joker laughed.

"Oh, but Batman, no two minds are _identical_. You never know for _sure_ how someone's going to react. Especially someone who's _mentally unstable_, as you say."

"But there are _patterns_." Batman argued. "Typical types of behavior associated with certain groups. _Most_ people react similarly to any given situation."

"True." The Joker agreed, nodding.

"The killer is striking seemingly at random. He leaves notes on the victims declaring the city his, but gives no indication of how he intends his actions to make his declaration a reality, or even what he _means_ by it. He seems to be targeting members of the mob and innocent civilians with equal intent."

"So, is this your _Clarice Starling_ to my _Hannibal Lector_?" The Joker grinned.

Batman said nothing.

The Joker shrugged, looking suddenly bored.

"Whoever it is…" He began. "likely they're killing _innocent civilians_ only as a means of throwing you off their trail."

"But each of the victims have been found severely mutilated." Batman said.

"Well now, I didn't say they weren't _enjoying_ their work." The Joker wagged his finger at the detective, grinning. "But clearly, if they haven't yet been captured, they can't be _entirely _stupid."

The madman leaned back then, regarding Batman in silence.

"So tell me Batman, how does it feel? Things are only getting worse out there, hmm? And the people of Gotham have _very_ little to believe in anymore. Did it make you angry, that without any real regard to the consequences, Gordon would just shatter the illusion of hope you sacrificed so much to give to them?"

Batman's mouth twisted noticeably to a frown, his teeth beginning to clench.

The Joker's smile broadened.

"I'll give you credit. It was a valiant effort. But your _one_ mistake Batman, your one, _fatal_ error, was in forcing on people _false_ hope. Their faith in good was predicated on a _lie_. Delusion can last for only so long. Eventually…" The madman fluttered his hands outward. "It all comes crashing down, and then they _all_ pay the price of being _blind_. Suffering's _born_ of denial."

Batman couldn't stand to hear him speak anymore and finally, he lost it, again smashing his fist against the plastic, the window vibrating violently beneath the impact.

The Joker erupted in to laughter then, watching as the crusader turned away in rage, heading back down the hall.

"It could have been so much _easier _Batman…" The lunatic called after him, still laughing. "If only you'd let them see how _ugly_ the worldis! They would have been prepared for what's coming! They could have been ready! And now, because of _you_, they're not! They're not ready Batman! They're not ready because of you!"

Batman tried desperately to block it out, but even as the elevator doors closed, he could still hear the Joker's laughter, echoing off the stone walls of the asylum.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

He'd gotten the call from Gordon not long after he'd left Arkham, the news not good.

"Another one." The Commissioner said, shaking his head, his eyes casting downward. "A woman."

"Not a member of the mob?" Batman questioned, though it came out more as a statement.

Gordon shook his head.

"House wife." He answered, his tone heavy with regret.

The vigilante cast his gaze off to the side, overlooking the city from the GCPD rooftop.

He could hear the Joker's voice in his head, telling him the killing of regular civilians was most likely nothing more then a distraction.

He didn't know why he hadn't thought of that before, but it made sense. The killer was trying to make their acts seem random, without direction or purpose. Just like the Joker had.

But as Alfred had tried to explain to him, the Joker hadn't _wanted_ anything logical. He hadn't been after money or power. He'd been after the destruction of people's hope, and the degradation of their morality.

His take over of the mob had only been a means of him gathering together the necessary muscle in order to cause wide spread chaos.

And he'd accomplished just that.

Batman had tried to nullify the impact of the Joker's actions by feeding the public a lie. He thought he could maintain the people's belief in good by taking the blame for Harvey Dent's crimes. And, for a time, it had seemed to work.

Batman had turned out to be a murdered, but at least the man they'd put their faith in, the man they'd chosen to be their _hero_, at least he'd _continued_ to be that, up until the very end, despite the horrors he'd suffered.

But because of Bruce taking the fall, he hadn't been able to operate at Batman anymore, and gradually, as the city's criminal element became aware of his absence, a steady rise in illegal activity began again to take place. After a time, it had become almost as rampant as just before he'd first appeared to fight crime, and then Jim Gordon had called a press conference, announcing the truth to the world, detailing that last night, when Harvey had taken his family hostage, how it was the former District Attorney who had been responsible for all those murders, not the Batman.

And then there'd been the wave of public outrage, and the ensuing cynicism. The papers and television programs had begun to fill with expressions of shock and dismay. Pundent after pundent declared the death of innocence, and had proclaimed Gotham a city shrouded in bitter darkness, infected with fear and hatred, with no light to be seen at the end of the tunnel.

It wasn't long before the same views began to bleed out to the general public, and that attitude of misanthropy and discouragement soon were reflected in the polls, in voting, and in the way people had begun to treat each other.

Outbreaks in violence had begun to increase exponentially. People were fighting with one another, getting in to arguments, which then would escalate in to physical confrontations. Not gang violence. These people weren't criminals. Just ordinary citizens.

And then the police would have to be called in.

This had been happening all over the city, people's general distrust and fear of each other beginning to take over, to dictate the way in which they would conduct themselves.

They'd begun to lose faith in each other. There'd been a fracturing of their hope.

And all Batman could hear in his mind then were the Joker's words.

"They're only as good as the world _allows_ them to be."

At that moment, they couldn't have seemed more true.

"He's doing it to throw us off." Batman said. "He wants us to think he's acting out randomly, without direction. He's aiming to take over the mob without us catching wind of who he is."

"Well that's a nice theory." Gordon said, shoving his hands in to his pockets. "But that still doesn't help us determine his next move. Whether he's killing innocent civilians as a course of throwing us off his trail or not, he's _still _not following any discernable pattern."

That was true.

And that was the reason Batman had gone to the Joker in the first place.

Except, the madman had so angered him, he ended up leaving before he could really make use of him.

That was a stupid mistake.

He should have known better then to let the lunatic get under his skin like that.

"I'm working on that." He said.

"Well you better make it fast." Gordon answered, looking away. "That's this psycho's seventh kill in the last two and a half months. Three mobsters, four civi…"

He turned back, and Batman was gone.

/

He'd been running through a list of all patients discharged from Arkham over the last two years, trying to weed out anyone who might fit the profile of this new killer. He knew it was a long shot, that whoever it was, it was just as likely they'd never been arrested at all, just like the Joker. The other problem was, nearly all of them, as far as Bruce could tell, had the potential for it. They had, after all, been in a mental hospital for the criminally insane, and though few of the patients released had, at any point, exhibited violent behavior, there still was that possibility. They had, after all, suffered from all manner of mental illness, from paranoia and schizophrenia, to anti-social and bipolar disorder. On and on. Witling it down seemed nearly an impossible task.

The only other evidence Bruce had been able to find had been a footprint, which had been found at a dump sight for one of the bodies. That footprint was what allowed the detective to conclude their killer was, indeed, male. And from there, Batman had been able to gauge the killer's general height and build. He likely was taller then average, probably around 6'1", 6'2", and large, anywhere from 195 to 220 lb.

But that was it.

The killer was exceptionally neat and thorough. He hadn't left any fingerprints behind, no hairs or specific clothing fibers. Nothing to help determine who he might be or where he might be located.

It was beyond frustrating.

As more time past, only more people would wind up dead.

He had to do something.

He had to catch this lunatic.

He only wished he knew how.

He'd gone undercover, parading as a goon for hire, positioning himself in known underworld hangouts, bars and restaurants, listening for any gossip which might help. And he'd kept it up for the better part of a month.

But no one was talking. There was definite tension in the air, and it was all but impossible for anyone running with Gotham's criminal element not to have heard of the killings. But it was as if they were too scared to even mention it. And so Bruce had found out very little.

And that's when he'd become desperate, seeking out the help of one madman to catch another.

But he'd let his emotions get in the way of that even.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected.

It seemed the Joker live only to upset him. The absolute _verve_ with which he would taunt the vigilante was astounding. He enjoyed it to an unfathomable degree.

Bruce knew that going in. He knew the Joker would do his very best to agitate and annoy him. To make him doubt himself.

And he'd told himself not to allow it, to ignore it, to remain unaffected.

But then, as always, it seemed to be the _way_ the Joker would say it. It would come out as the most keen of observations, not the ravings of a madman. And Bruce couldn't help but let it drill in to his brain then. And it would eat away at his mind, causing in him incredible despair, feelings of insecurity and, worse still, guilt. Whenever he talked to the Joker, he would come away from it feeling as though everything which had ever gone wrong in his life, and in the lives of those he cared about, had been his own fault.

Needless to say, he really didn't want to go back and see him. Ever again.

But his options had run out. He was stuck.

And he knew, soon, he would be forced to do just that.

/

They shoved him hard, face first against the back wall of the small space, a moment later pulling him away and twisting him round, pushing him back again so this time he faced them, his back against the wall.

Each of them carried in their hands a billy club.

"You ready for your beat down, clown?" One of them spoke, thwapping the stick in to his palm.

The Joker smirked.

"Should be fun." He answered, amusement in his eyes.

This had become a fairly common routine since his arrival at Arkham.

The guards who worked there could be described, only, as a cowardly lot, who enjoyed taking their feelings of insecurity out on the patients by ganging up on them in groups of five or more, and beating them with their clubs.

With the Joker though, they'd made it a more frequent habit, and he knew it was because, each time, he would only laugh. And so each subsequent beating would then be worse, their anger and confusion driving them to it, and the Joker would laugh harder still.

They liked taking him to this supply closet. He remembered, the first time it had happened, complimenting them on their choice of local, pointing out the forethought of having on hand cleaning supplies, making mess management much more convenient.

One of the men's faces twisted in disgust.

"Fuckin' sick freak." He spit.

The Joker's brow furrowed.

"_Freeeak_…" His teeth gritted together as the word expelled from his lips. And without warning, he lunged forward, his hand closing tight around the guards jaw, digging in with his fingernails.

The man began to scream as the pain radiated up, in to his cheeks.

In an instant, the others were on the madman, pulling him off.

The Joker held tight though, dragging his nails along the guard's skin, tearing it open and they threw him back.

The guard held his hands to his face.

"Jesus fuckin' CHRIST!" He howled, his hands shaking as he pulled them away and saw they were covered in his own blood. "Why aren't his _nails_ cut! His nails are supposed to be _cut_!"

The other guards turned their attention on the Joker then.

"_Big_ mistake laughing boy." One of them hissed.

The Joker was pressed against the wall, regarding them with gleaming eyes.

And then he began to laugh.

"We'll see." He said.

And then they were on him, forcing him to the ground as they began to pummel him with their sticks, and his laughter only grew, rising above their grunts of effort.

/

"What happened to you?" Batman asked, standing on the opposite side of the window, looking in on the Joker.

He was lying on his cot, his hands again folded behind his head, only now there were patches of grotesquely discolored skin, running up his arms, deep purple, red and yellow. The right side of his face, running down from around his eye was black and blue, an abrasion along his cheek bone.

Batman could see the bruising was recent; between one and three days old.

The Joker grinned, sitting up, and Batman could now see the white of his right eye had turned completely red, the capillaries in it having broken.

"What do you think?" He said, still smiling. "I got beat up."

The vigilante watched him intently. If the parts of his body which were exposed bore that kind of damage, he could only imagine what the rest of him looked like.

"By who?"

The Joker moved to get up then, visibly grimacing as he did so, a chuckle escaping his lips at the pain.

"Oh, you know." He waved a dismissive hand. "They'll have you believe _I_ started it."

"Did you?" Batman asked coldly.

The Joker stopped pacing, standing in front of the detective now.

"So _suspicious_!" He smiled, his hands on his hips. "But no, no. It wasn't _me_."

"You aren't allowed interaction with the other patients." Batman stated.

"Heh."

"The guards did this to you?"

"Putting those, uh, _skills of deduction_ to use, are we?" The Joker chuckled.

Batman said nothing.

The Joker leaned his shoulder against the window then.

"Don't look so indignant." He said. "They like to have their fun."

"They're breaking the law." The vigilante answered, shocked at the madman's seeming lack of concern.

The Joker erupted in laughter.

"So are you!"

"There are _rules_…"

"And what did I tell you about _rules_?" The Joker cut him short.

Batman stiffened, going silent for a moment.

"Don't you care?" He asked finally, his voice suddenly quiet.

The Joker continued to chuckle.

"Like I said, they like to have their fun… And I like to have mine."

The crusader frowned, not wanting to think what the lunatic implied with that statement.

"Tell me who they are. I'll have them removed."

"Righteous as ever, I see." The Joker smirked. "But don't pretend as though you're actually _concerned_ for me."

He turned then, pacing to the other side of the small space.

"Even if you were, you shouldn't be." He went on, turning to look over his shoulder, a sly grin sliding in to place.

"So tell me…" He turned more fully then. "come any closer to finding your… _killer_?" He winked. "I'll guess not, since you're back here."

Batman crossed his arms over his chest.

"He's killed again. A woman this time."

"Oh, you must be _beside_ yourself." The Joker said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

"I need to know where he's going to strike next." Batman ignored the comment. "I need to stop him."

The Joker looked incredibly disinterested, his eyes rolling up.

"He's been very careful so far." The detective continued. "He's left no evidence which could lead back to him. There's been nothing for me or the police to go on."

"He cuts the bodies up, hmm?" The Joker suddenly said. "Takes chunks out of their flesh."

Batman stared silently at him for a moment before nodding, wondering to himself how it was the Joker knew any of this.

"He's probably a masochist." The Joker said.

Batman started.

"What makes you say that?" He asked finally.

The Joker smiled, his dark eyes seeming to glint under the lights.

"Trust me." He answered.

Batman's eyes moved to the madman's scars, and he felt suddenly sick at their appearance, the way they would bunch higher up along his cheeks when he smiled.

And he found himself wondering then if they'd been self-inflicted.

The Joker was watching him with equal intent.

"You're thinking I did this to myself." He said abruptly.

Batman was snapped from his focus on the disfigured skin, his gaze moving up to meet the lunatics own.

And again the Joker smiled, placing his left palm flat against the window.

"It's a little foggy… I think sometimes I did. Other times …" He shrugged. "I think it was someone else."

The vigilante glared at him.

"But that's got absolutely nothing to do with what I said."

"Then _what_?" Batman pressed, losing patience.

"_Deep_ cuts." The madman explained. "He cuts portions of their flesh from their bodies, keeping them alive as long as possible before killing them. He enjoys pain. He enjoys watching it in others, and he probably enjoys it himself. Though how muuuch, that's anyone's guess." The Joker waved his hand. "It's rare you find a masochist who enjoys _real _pain." Again he grinned, and Batman felt his stomach churn. "Oh, they'll delude themselves in to thinking just that, but show em' a little more then they're used to, and all pretense goes _right _out the window."

He laughed suddenly, loudly.

Batman actually flinched at the noise.

He didn't want to think about that statement either.

The lunatic eyed him for a moment longer before turning, striding back to the cot and sitting.

"How _is _the Commissioner?" He asked, seemingly out of the blue, lazily observing the discolored skin of his arms.

The crusader frowned.

"Don't change the subject." He hissed.

The Joker looked up, his brows risen in supposed surprise.

"The subject?" His eyes rolled up. "The subject's whatever I want it to be."

Batman felt an immediate swell of annoyance.

"I don't _need_ you." He spit, his hands clenching to fists, hoping the statement would persuade the madman from playing games.

But the Joker only smiled.

"And yeeet, here you are." He swept his hand out.

"I don't have _time_ for this!" The detective snapped, his voice rising.

The Joker shrugged, telling Batman he couldn't regard his situation as mattering less.

"Those cops really were useless without you." He continued down the path he'd started. "I'll just bet Gordon couldn't contain his relief at clearing your name. He really does rely on you so much."

Suddenly the madman's expression seemed to change and he regarded the vigilante with quizzical eyes.

"We're so _alike_ Batman. Do you realize?"

"We're nothing alike." Batman said, his voice low, finally turning from the window, looking away.

"You know what you're good at?" The Joker again spoke. "Pretending. You're really _good _at that."

He stood abruptly, stepping back towards the window, standing directly opposite the crusader now.

"We're _perfect_ for each other." He grinned.

Batman glanced up at him, rage boiling beneath the surface of his eyes.

"No." He seethed. "You make me _sick_!"

The Joker's mouth pulled in to a frown.

"Oh, now _that's_ harsh." He said, his voice at once growing soft. He turned his back suddenly, his face burying in his hands.

Batman gazed at the lunatic incredulously as his shoulders abruptly heaved, a moment later a strangled sob chocking out from his throat, followed by several more, broken up and uncontrolled.

The detective could feel his eyes narrowing as the display continued, and he realized with a feeling of dismay how _genuine_ it sounded, the illusion broken seconds later as the racked sobs turned to high pitched, unrestrained laughter.

Finally the vigilante could take no more as images flashed through his mind of the madman using his apparently fine acting abilities to trick and manipulate others, and he turned, his cape swirling angrily behind him as he strode away, the Joker's hysterics still ringing in his ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

He threw his mask viciously to the floor, releasing a growl as he did so, his anger having finally boiled over.

He _hated_ the maniac. Hated him with a passion he hadn't felt since… since…

He spun, yanking the armor from his torso, throwing it down also as he stalked towards the computer monitors.

The Joker wasn't frightened of him, _at all_. There was nothing he'd been able to do to _intimidate_ the madman, nothing he could do to dissuade him, and it was nothing short of infuriating. Every criminal he'd ever encountered, they'd all feared _something_. But the Joker… he feared _nothing_, and bitterly, Batman acknowledged it rendered him ineffective against the lunatic.

He _operated_ through his ability to frighten and intimidate criminals in to stopping. There had always been something he could use against them, something he could use as leverage. But the Joker didn't _care_ about anything. There was nothing that could be used against him because everything to him was nothing more then a meaningless _joke_. When Bruce had finally realized that, he hadn't known _what_ to do, and he'd nearly given in to the maniac's demands, nearly given up. And he _would_ have, if Harvey hadn't…

"_Let him rot_." He thought to himself bitterly, starting the computers up.

If the physical state the Joker had been in was any indication, he was getting more from the Arkham staff then he was dishing out, and at the moment, that was just fine by Bruce.

But as quickly as the thought had past through his mind, so too did the Joker's own words, angrily telling him not to pretend as though he actually cared for the madman's well being. And the detective then felt more enraged at the truth of it, realizing his hypocrisy in before expressing concern for the Joker's condition, yet now wishing for more abuse to befall him. And now suddenly he questioning his own proclamations of nobility.

God, he had to stop _thinking _about this!

He huffed, trying to shake the ridiculous thoughts from his mind as he once again pulled up Arkham's databank, detailing a list of patients released from the facility in the last, few years.

He still had no clue how the Joker had deduced this new killer to likely be a masochist, but nevertheless, Bruce understood it couldn't hurt to follow up on it.

And indeed, in narrowed down considerably the list he now looked over. Of the some 30 plus patients released from the asylum in the last two years, only 6 of them had displayed masochistic tendencies.

It was a long shot. The Joker's word, after all, was anything but reliable, and it seemed to the detective that he was only guessing, the same as he. But Bruce also figured it couldn't hurt to at least look in on the six, see what they'd been doing with their free time.

/

"I'm disappointed."

A man, probably in his mid sixties, with graying hair and reading glasses, leaned back in his seat, his eyes scanning over papers he held in his hands.

The Joker sat a ways from him, in a chair situated at room's center. His wrists were cuffed together. A pair of manacles adorned his ankles. His eyes were fixed on the older man, focused and unblinking.

He said nothing.

"I'm sorry for what happened." He looked up at his patient at last. "But you attacked a group of guards." The doctor breathed in, releasing it slowly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The Joker remained silent, pinning him with his gaze, his tongue sweeping out to lick his lips, lingering at the corner of his mouth, against one of his scars.

"It seems to me you're making little if _any_ effort here." The doctor continued, than sighed. "I want to help you, but I can't do that if you don't _let_ me."

Still the patient said nothing.

The doctor regarded him sternly, his hands playing with a ballpoint pen.

"I'm increasing your medication." He stated at last.

At this the Joker's expression faltered, becoming displeased.

"These continued outbursts of yours leave me little choice." The doctor went on. "I know you don't like the drugs, but it's in your best interests."

"It wasn't me." The Joker at last spoke.

The doctor looked at him questioningly.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"They attacked me first." He answered.

The doctor's expression grew incredulous.

"You expect me to believe that?"

The Joker shrugged.

"Does it matter if you do?"

"_Yes_. Of _course_ it does. But your history here suggests different from what you're saying."

The Joker turned his head then, gazing off to the room's side, saying nothing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The doctor again offered.

When he received no reply, he looked down.

"Very well then." He spoke, writing something down.

The Joker glanced at him quickly, knowing what he wrote; knowing also the truth didn't matter one way or the other to the psychiatrist.

With almost clockwork regularity, every few weeks he'd come to these sessions, beaten all to hell, and each time, his medication had been increased, the doctor citing his "continual outbursts" for the reason.

He and the rest of the staff here knew damn well what was happening, but it was just another form of abuse, guised as therapy.

They would sedate him and leave him that way for days, without contact.

He hated it.

It made it hard for him to think.

"You really are pathetic." He said finally, glaring at the doctor with vicious eyes.

The psychiatrist looked up, clearly taken aback.

"Excuse me?" He asked, his eyes slightly wide.

The Joker smirked.

"Look at you. Hiding behind your… _pretensions_ of morality. You've really convinced yourself of it, haven't you? That you're doing this out of the _goodness_ of your heart?" He chuckled. "You're a sadist. You just won't admit it."

The doctor's face had slowly transformed in to a mask of fury, his lips pulling tight, his eyes narrowing.

"That's _enough_!" He practically spit. "We've been over this. We are here to discuss _you_, not the other way around!"

The Joker ignored him.

"It's intoxicating, isn't it? That feeling of power you get? The control you think you have."

The madman raised his cuffed hands then, wagging a single finger in the air.

"But Doooc… that control is _false_." He smiled, saying nothing for a moment, leaning back in his seat. "Consider it a warning. He spoke again. "A warning you should _heed_."

The doctor looked as though he were about to explode.

"Are you _threatening _me?" His asked through gritted teeth.

The Joker's brows rose, taking on an expression of surprise.

"_Me_? Threaten _you_? No, no. I'm trying to _help_ you." He leaned slightly forward, glaring at the older man from below now, his expression one of knowing.

The doctor's face had now flushed red with anger.

Gently he began to organize and straighten the various objects on his desk, inhaling deeply, trying to calm himself.

"Alright then." He began. "If that's how it's going to be, I'll just assume you'd like for this session to end early."

"How… _long_ have we been at this?" The madman continued to ignore everything the psychiatrist said, sitting back once more.

Agitated, the doctor glared at his patient.

"..2 months and a week." He answered, his voice clipped.

"Has it been that long!" The Joker sounded surprised.

"Yes." The older man answered. "It has. And unfortunately it would appear we've made little progress."

"You mean _you've_ made little progress." The Joker corrected him, pointing his finger at him.

The doctor stared at him.

"You're the second doctor they've assigned me here." The lunatic continued. "You think you'll last as long as the first?" The Joker leaned closer then. "Or not."

A surge of anxiety ran through the older man at the maniac's words.

The Joker's first doctor, Dr. Lilo, had been treating the madman for nearly four months, and things had been seeming to go well, with the psychiatrist reporting back to the board of directors that he was seeing satisfactory progression with their newest patient.

And then, one day, without any kind of warning, the man had killed himself, putting a bullet in to his own brain.

There'd been no note, no explanation for why he'd done it.

He'd been discovered in his work office at Arkham, blood splattered everywhere, against the window behind his desk, a 35. Caliber pistol hanging loosely from his fingers, the back of his head blown out.

Officially it had been ruled a suicide, and indeed, scientific findings proved the man had shot himself. But a reason _why_ had never been discovered. Everyone who knew him had been shocked, telling police that, as far as they knew, he'd exhibited no signs of emotional problems. It had been completely unexpected.

It didn't take long, however, for the rumors to start.

Dr. Lilo had worked at Arkham for nearly 15 years prior to that, and had always been one of the more upbeat, optimistic psychiatrists on staff. He was the type who felt _any_ patient, no matter how extreme their case, was treatable.

When he'd taken on the Joker's case, to some it seemed he'd become pre-occupied with the madman, though none would use the word obsessed. He hadn't, after all, allowed his work to bleed over in to his personal life. But in talking with his colleagues, he spoke almost exclusively of the Joker, and to the other doctor's, he appeared enthused, if even slightly enamored with the patient, going on about some theory he'd begun to develop, explaining that the Joker suffered, not so much from insanity, but from a higher state of consciousness which only made him _appear_ insane.

No one, of course, had taken him too seriously on the matter, though no one shot him down on it either. They would just nod and tell him it was a fascinating theory. And to that, Dr. Lilo had seemed receptive.

Later, the doctor's notes would reveal his infatuation with the madman ran much deeper then anyone had suspected, his writings revealing a man gradually but steadily descending down the path to mental illness.

No one had ever outright said it, but everyone knew nonetheless… The Joker had driven him to it.

The older man looked away finally.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have." He stated at last.

He'd promised himself when he took on this case that he would never, ever allow what had happened to Dr. Lilo to happen to him.

"Well, that's too bad." The Joker said, smirking. "Just when we'd begun to find so much out about _you_."

Finally the doctor lost it, standing abruptly, his fingers curling in on top of his desk.

"I will _not_ tolerate this!" He spit.

"Careful Doc." The Joker grinned. "You're letting that _control_ slip."

That had done it. The older man was unable to keep an enraged snarl from escaping his lips and he moved around the desk, stepping fast towards the chained man, his hands outreached as though he intended to chock him.

The Joker's face had lit up, a massive grin spreading over his lips as he watched the psychiatrist come towards him.

A moment later and the door to the office had swung open, several orderlies piling in to the room, having seen the doctor's intent on the monitoring screen outside.

"Dr. Lanslow, _no_!" One of them shouted as the four men moved to stop him. "He's _dangerous_ Sir! Stop!" They reached him, pulling him back just as he was upon the Joker, ready to attack.

The Joker had erupted in to hysterics, bent over at the waste as the orderlies wrestled the psychiatrist backward, away from him.

When finally they'd gotten the older man to calm down, asking him if he was alright, he giving them confirmation that he was, they turned to the lunatic, picking him up out of his seat and leading him from the room.

The doctor seemed to look everywhere but at the Joker, doing everything he could to avoid his gaze. And the madman continued to laugh, calling out to the psychiatrist. "It's all coming undone now, isn't it Doc!" And his mirth grew, even as they pushed him out the door, down the corridor, farther away from the office.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

He'd done minor investigation in to the six Arkham patients, all men, all released before the last 18 months, and, on the surface, all appearing to have been leading relatively normal lives, given their circumstances. Five of the men were living on welfare, each having been relocated to a halfway house. The sixth man, Edward Melville, seemed to be doing a bit better for himself, having found employment in a large, downtown supermarket as a bagger and living just a few blocks away, in a run down tenement building.

For nearly three weeks, Batman had kept tabs on all of them, watching from where they would come and where they would go, who they would meet with and so on. None of it struck the detective as unusual. But he'd taken more interest in Edward, given his apparent higher functionality, and staked out for several nights on a roof across from the supermarket to see where he went after work, and what he did. The times he surveyed him, the ex-Arkham inmate had gone straight back to his apartment and, as far as the crusader could tell, didn't leave for the rest of the night.

Batman now found himself staked out, watching the man's apartment for the sixth night in a row, thinking at this point there was little point in continuing his surveillance. And then, suddenly, Melville came through the front entrance of his building, looking left to right before shooting off, up the street, his hands shoved in to his pockets, his head kept down.

The detective frowned, reaching for his utility belt, pulling a grappling hook from it before shooting it across, to the roof adjacent from his own.

Silently, from up above, he pursued Edward, watching him with scrutiny.

The man seemed incredibly paranoid all of a sudden, stopping every few hundred yards, looking back over his shoulder. Batman knew though he couldn't be seen.

Wherever the former patient was heading, he didn't want anyone to know about it.

Batman trailed him for another 4 and a half blocks before, abruptly, he stopped in front of another apartment complex, again looking left to right before pulling a ring of keys from his pocket, picking one from out the bunch and pushing it in to the front entrance lock. Quickly and quietly, Melville slipped inside, obviously unaware of his being watched, closing the door behind him.

The vigilante waited only a minute before shooting off to the tenement. He would use the roof's access, and then the stairwell. The building looked abandoned and he assumed it wouldn't be a problem locating where the man had gone using his cowls enhanced hearing.

Sure enough, the moment he entered, he could hear a kind of scraping noise, which sounded very much like metal on metal to him, and, as he descended the stairs, it took him only a few moments longer before he discerned the sound to be coming from the very first floor.

Softly, and with efficiency, he moved towards it and soon it became so loud he had to shut off the sound sensors, his natural hearing being enough.

When he could tell the sound emanated from only feet away, he moved with even greater caution, glancing slyly around the corner of an entryway. What he saw caused his eyes to go momentarily wide.

He'd been suspicious, at most. But he hadn't been expecting it, not entirely.

There was the man he'd followed in, Edward Melville, his back turned to the vigilante, fussing with something along a wooden table, though Batman couldn't see what at the moment. And beside him, tied to a chair and unconscious, was a man, who the detective recognized quickly as Jonathan Futz, Salvatore Maroni's newest right hand man.

Since the car accident caused by Dent, Maroni had been confined to a wheelchair, though the state wasn't permanent, from what Bruce understood, and as of now, he was engaged in physical therapy to help regain the use of his legs. Progress, supposedly, had been slow, but forthcoming.

For what was left of his operations, he'd been forced to recruit more then a few new men, so many of his others having been killed in the Joker's little game.

Batman watched for a moment in silence as Melville turned suddenly to his captive. Reaching out, he slapped him gently across the face, obviously trying to rouse him. A few more taps, and the man began to stir. It took only moments more before he became aware of his being bound and his eyes shot wide in fear and confusion, immediately beginning to struggle against the ropes tying his hands and feet.

"What the h-hell!" He nearly screamed. "W-where am I! Who the _fuck_ are you!"

"Shut up." Edward said, turning back to his table. "Who I am doesn't matter"

"D-do… do you know who you're _fuckin_' with!" The bound man spit. "You're dead! Do you hear! You're fuckin' _dead_!"

Edward just shrugged, seemingly unphased by the rant.

"You're just one more piece to the puzzle." He answered calmly, turning to regard Futz. "And that puzzle is nearly complete…" He smiled.

"He'll be so pleased." His finished, his voice drifting off, sounding distant.

Futz began to struggle mightily against his binds then, a string of profanities and threats pouring from his mouth.

He was obviously petrified.

Melville ignored him, turning again to the table, this time taking up something from it, and when he turned back, Bruce saw he held a meat cleaver, and that was his queue to intercept.

Fast, but somehow silently, he moved forward. Futz had seen him, but his only reaction had been stunned silence, his eyes huge as saucers, his mouth hung open in shock, and in an instant, Batman was upon the killer, grabbing him from behind and spinning him around.

Edward yelped out in surprise, his cleaver dropping to the floor as he was flung like a rag doll to the floor.

He had only a moment to take in the black form which had attacked him before the vigilante was again on him, grabbing tight to his shirt's collar and lifting him up.

The man's face was filled with fear then, draining of color, his expression falling, the shock evident as Batman told him in a voice like gravel that he was finished.

Somewhere in the background, he could hear his captive screaming for the crusader to get him the hell out of there.

"No! Not yet! He isn't ready! He isn't ready!" Edward screamed, fighting in vain to escape the ridiculously strong grasp of the vigilante.

And then he remembered the last note he'd received, instructing him in detail of what to do should this very event arise. It had read for him to shake the flash grenade from his sleeve to his hand. He'd been told beforehand to always carry one with him. And then it had instructed that he pull the pin from it and let it drop between him and Batman. Make sure to close your eyes tight, it had said, and after it goes off, to take his switchblade and bury it along the crusaders arm, between the plates of his armor, to ensure his release. After that, he was to run away. Under no circumstance, it said, was he to stop. Do not attempt to subdue or overpower Batman, do not attempt to recover your materials or victim. Do not _engage_ with Batman in any way. Just run.

He remembered all of this in an instant, as he was being manhandled, and nearly as fast as his mind recalled it, he executed the plan. He shook his arm, the grenade falling in to his hand, and with his thumb, he detached the pin. Batman noticed none of this until he heard the soft clank of the grenade hitting the floor. He looked down and less then a second later, his vision was filled with blinding, white light, followed soon after by a sharp, radiating pain in his right arm. Inadvertently his grip loosened and he felt Edward Melville squirm out of his grasp.

"NO!" He hissed in rage, grabbing for the source of his pain.

When he found it, he tore it out, throwing it to the floor, his vision still obscured. And then he heard footfall, moving away from him, and then the sound of a door opening, and he knew Edward was making his escape.

"Damn it!" He roared, blinking rapidly, trying to clear his sight. Behind him he could hear Futz screaming, telling him the killer was getting away.

But there wasn't a damn thing he could do. He was blind, and only after nearly a minute more did his eyes begin to come back to him.

"He's gettin' away, damn it!" Futz yelled, pushing and pulling against his binds.

Batman turned to him, his face twisted in fury.

The bound man quickly fell quiet, suddenly frightened by the vigilante.

"H-h-he ran out that way." He stuttered, nodding his head towards the building front entrance.

"I _know_!" Batman spit, moving towards him, pulling out a sharp edged batarang from his belt.

"W-what are you gonna do with that!" Futz tripped over his own words, his eyes going wide as the dark figure came closer.

Batman didn't bother to answer.

Futz cringed away, his eyes closing tight, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips as the detective grabbed hold of him.

Seconds later and he felt the ropes tying his wrists loosen and then fall away, followed quickly by the ones along his ankles.

And then he heard the gravel filled voice of the Dark Knight.

"What happened?" He asked, his tone cold and hard.

Slowly he opened his eyes.

Blinking, licking his lips nervously, he tried to answer.

"I… I-I don't know man." He sputtered. "All I know is I was walkin' to my car when I heard someone comin' up behind me, but before I could turn to see, I got grabbed from behind. Next thing I knew, I was out. T-they musta' put chloroform over my mouth or somethin'."

For a moment the crusader regarded him, saying nothing.

"Go." He finally said, his voice low.

Again the man blinked, confused.

"GO!" Batman raged, and Futz didn't need to be told again, scrambling to his feet, nearly tripping and falling as he bolted towards the door, disappearing in to the night.

/

Batman had stayed behind for a short time, collecting what evidence he could from the equipment Edward Melville had left behind. Though, at this point, it mattered very little. He knew who the killer was now. He'd _had_ him in his grasp, and somehow, he'd let him escape.

Bruce shook his head in frustration.

Somehow the man had been prepared for an attack. The vigilante _knew_ Edward hadn't been aware of being followed. He _knew_ he hadn't been seen. But still, somehow, the killer had been ready. Meticulously prepared, one might say, and now he could be _anywhere_.

And suddenly, Batman recalled what the man had said as he held him in his grasp. He'd screamed hysterically, "He isn't ready!" Jesus Christ, was he not working alone? That might explain why all the kills had been done so cleanly, without any evidence left behind.

Though there was no evidence of that here.

If he _was_ working with another person, or with a team, he would find out, one way or the other. His focus now had to be on _finding_ him again.

And the question was, how. He knew almost certainly Melville would lay low now, at least for a while. He'd been spotted, found out.

Batman didn't know whether he would have the nerve to again go after Futz. He thought maybe there was a distinct possibility that, eventually, he would.

But, given how accurate it had been so far, there was another opinion he begrudgingly thought would help determine what next he should anticipate.

/

When he came this time to see him, he was told the Joker was down in the showers, and that it would be a while.

Batman thought that slightly odd, given the hour

"Do all of Arkham's patients shower at 2 in the morning?" He asked, recalling the state he'd last seen the madman in.

The guard he talked with looked up at him, giving him an agitated look.

"It'll be about 20 minutes." He said, his tone with a notable edge. "You can wait if you want."

And then he turned away, brining the radio receiver attached to his shirt to his mouth, talking in to it as he walked away.

"Hurry up down there, will you?" He hissed in a whisper. "The bat's back to see him."

He thought Batman couldn't hear him, but he could.

A few seconds later, and another crackling voice came through.

"Yeah, just a second. We're almost done here."

The detective found himself frowning. This very _clearly _wasn't standard protocol.

He stood stiffly then, eyeing the guard with suspicion as he walked away.

And then he waited.

/

"Get in there clown!" One of the men pushed him from behind hard, in to the small cell.

He stumbled, falling to the ground, his face planted against the concrete floor, his body convulsing with his own laughter.

"Yeah, keep laughin'." The guard spit, slamming the door shut, a loud beep sounding, indicating the lock had gone back in to place.

And the Joker did, pushing himself to his hands and knees, his hysterics making it difficult, water dripping heavily from his face and hair, his uniform soaked through to the skin.

The three guards who had taken him to and from the showers stood, observing him through the thick, Plexiglas window.

Finally the madman managed, getting to his feet, his laughter so hard it came out as nothing more then a thin wheeze.

"Look at you." One of the men said, his face twisting in disgust. "Fuckin' psycho."

The Joker remained bent over, his mirth failing to lessen or cease, his eyes squeezing shut at its intensity.

"Let's get outta here." Another of the guards spoke, feeling suddenly unnerved.

Without warning the Joker lunged forward, slamming his whole body _hard_ against the window, a loud thud sounding, the impact causing the entire thing to vibrate.

The three guards visibly jumped, inadvertently stepping back.

And the Joker's laughter only intensified with their reaction, practically causing him to fall to the floor now.

"L-let's just go now, alright?" The same guard said, and the other two didn't hesitate this time, all three turning and walking fast from the corridor, the Joker's insane hysterics echoing behind them.

/

Only ten minutes had past before the same guard from before came back around, informing Batman that the Joker was ready to be seen.

He was led down the same path he'd been taken the previous two times, and again left alone to walk the short corridor to the madman's cell, in the bowls of the asylum.

When he'd covered the distance, again standing opposite the lunatic, he found him this time leaned up against the rooms left wall, soaking wet, more fresh bruises running up along his exposed forearms.

The crusader frowned.

"Again?" He questioned.

The Joker only grinned at him.

"Back to being righteously indignant?" He chuckled.

"What did they do to you up there?" The crusader pressed.

The madman looked incredibly amused.

"Oh, what _didn't_ they do!" He waved a hand, his voice enthused.

"They beat you up again?"

The Joker smirked.

"Hmm. _Water_ torture this time." He wriggled his eyebrows. "Those high pressured fire hoses just leave you _all _black and blue."

"I'll report them." Batman offered. "Give me their names."

The Joker laughed.

"No. I don't think so." He answered. "I find it invigorating, the whole display."

"You _want_ this to continue?" The detective could hardly believe his ears.

"They want me to scream." The Joker said. "To beg them to stop."

He moved closer to the window suddenly.

"But I _dooon't_… and their reactions are worth more then any sum of cash." He smiled, his voice just barely above a whisper, his eyes flashing.

The man was completely _insane_, Bruce thought, realizing there was no use whatsoever in trying to discuss this with him, or in… in trying to _help_ him. It was as though the lunatic _enjoyed_ the abuse, reveled in it. And the vigilante thought then, in the Joker's sick and addled brain, he must have viewed the treatment as some sort of validation of his twisted perception of the world, and of the people in it. Like it was confirmation of his nihilistic philosophies, proof of people's inherent viciousness.

It was affirmation of his being _right_.

Thinking about it, Batman could see just how strongly the abuse supported what the madman preached, and so he tore his mind from it, focusing instead on what he'd come here for.

"I found him." He said, changing the subject quickly.

The Joker's brows rose.

"Have you?" He asked.

The detective gave a nod.

"Yes. But he managed to escape. He could be anywhere now. I need to figure out where he's likely to next strike."

The Joker smiled.

"You're going to have to give me more then that." He said.

"I stopped him from killing Jonathan Futz, Salvatore Maroni's newest right hand man."

The madman's grin broadened.

"Mmm." He said, as though in thought. "He'll go for him again. Only this time, he'll likely wait until he can get both Futz and Maroni together, since the _heat _is on."

Batman remained stoic.

"What makes you so sure?" He asked.

"Call it instinct." The Joker flashed him another smile.

Batman said nothing.

"You can follow Futz, and Maroni. Watch them, and you'll catch your killer."

Batman couldn't understand how the madman could be so sure of himself. Of course, it was a logical assumption to make, that Edward Melville's next target would be the one he last failed to kill. But the Joker didn't sound as if he was assuming at all, he sounded as if he _knew_.

After a long moment of silence, the vigilante put it down to the lunatic's mocking arrogance and self-assurance in himself. And so far, as much as Batman hated its admittance, the Joker's advice _had_ helped him in locating his man.

"Alright." He finally answered.

And then he turned, moving away, back down the corridor.

The Joker watched him silently this time, his eyes following the dark figure until he turned the corner, disappearing out of view completely.

He smiled to no one but himself then, moving away from the window, going to lie on the room's cot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

For weeks he tailed both Jonathan Futz and Salvatore Maroni, there scarcely being a moment when the two men were apart. Maroni being confined to a wheelchair as he was, and even more paranoid than usual, he was loath to be left alone, ever.

Batman wondered if Futz had told him about what happened.

The detective had also been attempting to keep an eye out for any movement or activity which would lead him to wherever Edwards Melville had decided to hide out. After seeing the Joker, he'd gone straight to Gordon and informed him of what he knew, and he now was aware of the GCPD doing much the same as him, combing the area near Melville's apartment and 10 blocks out from that. So far, nothing. Wherever the killer was, he was hidden away good, and he _wasn't_ being stupid.

He'd also informed Gordon of his belief that Melville would strike at Futz again, and let him understand that he would be keeping surveillance on the mobster, as well as Maroni. Gordon had seemed fine with that, and even a little relieved that he wouldn't have to devote any of his resources to watching a group of organized criminals, for _their _protection, when they were sorely needed elsewhere.

Upon the fourth week of trailing them, however, Batman had begun to wonder if the endeavor was useless. There hadn't been even the slightest indication yet that Melville would again attempt to take down Futz, or Maroni. No unusual persons lurking around, no activity out of the ordinary.

Maybe the Joker had actually been wrong this time.

Right now he'd followed Maroni's small, single car entourage from an upscale, middle of downtown restaurant to a decidedly more dilapidated part of the city. Sitting along a roof's edge across the street from them, he watched as the vehicle came to a stop in front of what once used to a be a flower shop, long since out of business and abandoned, the windows boarded up, making it impossible to see inside.

Maroni and his men had been coming here for the last, several months, and Batman had pegged it as their newest meeting place to discuss matters of business. He'd planted a bug inside, hoping to catch them indicting themselves, but since the whole affair with the Joker, the mobsters, apparently, had smartened up, and everything they said was spoken in code.

Five men emerged from the out the Mercedes, one of them Marnoi, carried out by Futz and placed in a wheelchair one of the others had taken from the trunk.

Quickly they headed inside, not bothering to look around, simply leaving two of the men stationed outside to keep watch.

Ten minutes past, and then another ten, and nothing happened, and Bruce was certain then it was going to be the same as every night previous that he'd done this, with Maroni and his men emerging, piling back in to the car and driving off to wherever it was they would go.

He was certain, at least, until he spotted a man heading down the sidewalk, towards the defunct flower shop, his head bowed and covered by a hood, his hands stuffed deep in to his pockets.

The crusader watched him carefully, realizing the person could be anyone, not ready to act until he was given a reason to.

When they'd gotten closer to the shop, the two men stationed outside finally took notice as well, watching him closely as he seemed to amble by, never lifting his head, never making any motion towards them.

Bruce felt his own body relax once the man had gotten a few feet past the two guards, and it appeared as though he was out for nothing more then a late night stroll.

That all changed very quickly when, suddenly, the man spun around, pulling from his pocket a gun equipped with a silencer, aiming it quickly, shooting the two guards successions and with efficiency.

Batman's eyes went wide, the whole sequence happening so quickly and unexpectedly, it took a moment for his mind to process what he'd just seen. By the time it had, the shooter had already moved to slip inside.

"Damn it!" The crusader hissed, moving to leap from the buildings roof, to the ground. But by the time he'd reached it, whoever the attacker was, and he had a pretty damned good idea, had already pushed his way in to the building.

Bruce hit the ground and made a beeline towards it. He thought, as he got closer, he would begin to hear commotion from inside, surprise and then gunfire, but there was nothing, and he grew increasingly suspicious.

There was no roof access to this building. It was a one story structure, and things were unraveling so quickly, the vigilante had little choice but to use the front entrance.

He bent, checking the two shot men for any signs of life. There were none. They'd each been shot through the chest, one bullet each.

Rising fast, Batman waited a long moment outside the shop, stealing himself for what he was certain would be a situation of panic and desperate actions within.

And then he moved, front kicking the door in, his hands already holding tight to his batarangs, ready to take out anyone stupid enough to pull a gun on him.

He was met with the sight of Edward Melville, standing only a few feet away, spinning around at the sound of the door crashing in, his eyes wide with what could only be fear. To the detective's surprise, the killer appeared to have no weapon at hand, and then he noticed Maroni, sat in a corner, two other men, men Bruce didn't recognize, standing beside him, one holding a gun, trained on the crime boss' head. Glancing to his left, he saw Futz and the other man in the entourage, down on their knees, their hands held up and behind their heads, three more, unrecognized men standing behind them, holding guns on them.

Batman observed the situation in a state of bemusement, saying and doing nothing for some seconds, and then there was a crackling in his ear, and he heard the report move out across the police frequency.

"All units, be advised. Breach of security at Arkham Asylum. The Joker has escaped. Repeat. The Joker has escaped from Arkham Asylum. Be advised, suspect may be armed and is considered _highly _dangerous. Approach with caution if seen."

Immediately the detective felt his stomach drop, an uncontrollable anxiety raging in to his body, in to his limbs and down to his fingers, and he felt very suddenly sick, lightheaded and unstable.

This had all been…

Before the thought had even a chance to finish, he was jarred from it by a deafening bang, a fraction of a second later followed by the splattering of something against his face, wet and sticky and hot.

He'd flinched, his eyes closing on instinct at the noise.

And then his ears filled with that familiar laughter, mocking and disjointed and _mean_. And he knew to who it belonged long before his eyelids ever slid open and he saw the unpainted face of the Joker, standing inside the doorframe leading to the buildings back room, his arm outreached, a gun held in his hand, aimed straight at the vigilante, the barrel heavily smoking.

It was only after taking all this in, several seconds later, that Bruce realized Edward Melville was nowhere to be seen. That only moments before he'd been standing there, directly across from Batman, and that now he was gone.

His eyes moved down, to the floor, and it was then he saw where the killer had gone, lying there, lifeless, the front of his head blown out from where the bullet had made its exit, and as quickly as that realization had come, so too did the realization that what he'd felt himself hit with had been the man's own blood and brains.

The Joker himself was looking down to the now dead Melville, his mouth twisting to a frown.

"Poor Eddy." He said, shaking his head as though dismayed. "The strain was just too much for him to bare." He forced his voice to crack as if he might break in to tears. But just as quickly, his expression brightened, a grin sliding in to place. "Still, he was a good little soldier."

Batman brought his eyes back to the madman, his mouth set in a thin line, his eyes narrowing is fury and disgust. He saw the lunatic was still dressed in his Arkham uniform and knew suddenly he must have come straight from there to here.

The Joker looked back.

"What!" He asked, feigning confusion. "Don't look at me like that. If you knew Eddy, you'd know I did him a favor." He smiled again.

"_You_…" Batman could barely find the words. "You set this whole thing up!" He finally spit, his hands closing tight around the batarangs still there.

The Joker sucked in his lower lip, holding his hands out and up, the gun dangling loosely from his fingers.

"Oh, don't give me that!" He answered. "This is me, after all." He leaned slightly forward, leering, pressing a hand against his chest. "You should have ex_pec_ted it."

The detective was beside himself, the only thought running through his head…

"Why?" He asked. "_Why_!"

The madman gave him a look of why not, and answered just the same.

"Why _not_?" He shrugged. "I thought it'd be _fun_. Send out a copy-cat, make sure it wasn't _too_ obvious, and see how long it took before you came _running_ to me for help." A soft chuckle escaped his throat. "It didn't take long at all. And Eddy here proved useful in the meantime." He gestured down to the dead man. "_Eliminating_ the competition, as they say." Again he laughed.

"You sick _freak_!" Maroni suddenly spit from the corner. "I'll have you _killed_! You hear me! I'll put you down like the dog you are!"

The Joker turned to look at him, cocking his head to the side.

"Ah, ha, ha, just like… _Gamble_?" He answered, turning fully to face the crime boss and stalking suddenly closer.

Maroni visibly pushed back in his chair, clearly intimidated.

"And _Gamble_…" The Joker shook his head. "We _all_ know what happened to him." Abruptly he reached out, taking hold of Maroni's jaw and jerking him forward. "Don't we?"

Maroni's eyes widened in fear.

"D-don't!" He stuttered. "B-Batman!"

"Batman! B-B-Batman!" The Joker mocked, pushing him back and letting go, flapping his arms around.

Quickly he turned to look at the vigilante, one side of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

"Batman's thoughts are at the moment predisposed." He said. "Shock, betrayal, guilt. All that good stuff, mixed all together. Hhheeeh. The best part _iiis_..."

He stepped closer to the detective, invading his personal space.

"He feels _cheated_." He went on, bending down slightly to look up in to Batman's face. "As though he expected something different. What's that they say? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twiiice…"

Batman lost it then, lunging towards the lunatic, taking hold his shirt and jerking him forward before slicing the batarang across his right cheek.

The Joker snorted at the pain, the sound melting in to hysterical laughter as Batman pushed him to the floor, going with him, beginning to reign punches down in to his face, causing the madman to laugh harder still with each blow.

Moments later Batman felt several sets of hands on him, pulling him off and away from the Joker.

He struggled mightily to pull free, his rage consuming him, wanting nothing but to break the lunatic's smug face.

But there were too many of them, his anger having distracted him, and now he was caught.

The Joker continued to laugh madly, still on the floor, the sound coming out as a hissed wheeze, it was so intense. And he struggled then to push himself to a sitting position, brining the back of his hand against his nose and mouth, wiping it across and pulling it away to stare at his own blood.

"Hhheee. W-would you look at that!" He grinned.

"Wh-what should we do with him Joker?" One of the men asked. "Do you want us to kill him?"

All amusement seemed to drain instantly from the Joker's face, his expression changing to pure rage as he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his gun up off the floor.

Quickly, without warning, he stepped towards his henchman, pressing the guns barrel to his forehead and firing.

The man's head seemed to explode from behind and he was dead instantly, slumping to the floor, the other men wearing looks of horror and shock.

"NO!" Batman roared, pressing harder to break free from their grasp, but still they held him tight.

The Joker regarded him, his mouth twisting to the side in sudden amusement.

"That's better, isn't it?" He asked.

Bruce didn't answer, his teeth grinding together, his entire body vibrating with rage, ready to explode out.

"Nothing to say, huh?" The Joker shrugged. "Well… that's alright." He turned away, walking towards the back room. "Hold him." He said, his tone flat as he disappeared through the entrance.

The men did as they were told, and just a few moments later, the madman reemerged, holding a plastic bottle and a cloth.

"Now you know I hate to do this to you." He began, holding the bottle away and eyeing it. "But it won't do to have you follow me, will it?"

"You sick piece of _garbage_!" Batman raged, the men now struggling considerably to hold him.

The Joker ignored the comment completely, keeping his focus on the bottle.

"Hmmm." He rolled his eyes up. "Okay." And he began then to douse the rag with the liquid inside.

Bruce knew right away what that liquid was, and what the madman's intention was, and as the Joker came towards him with it, he began again to fight against those holding him.

"Ah, ah, ah!" The Joker reached out, grabbing hold behind his head and pulling him forward. "Let's not make this… _harder_ then it has to be." Quickly he pressed the cloth over Batman's nose and mouth, holding it firmly in place as the vigilante thrashed violently against him.

It took only a brief, few seconds before the chloroform began to take affect, and soon, the crusader had gone limp.

The Joker observed him curiously for a short time afterwards, just staring at his unconscious form, his head cocked to the side in seeming wonderment.

And then, abruptly, he dropped the bottle and rag to the floor, turning towards the buildings back exit.

"Leave him." He told his men.

The men looked at each other, confusion written across their faces before simply shrugging and dropping Batman to the floor.

"You have my clothes?" The Joker questioned, beginning to move towards the exit.

"Yeah boss. W-we got em' waitin' for you in the van." One of them answered.

The Joker said nothing, continuing to walk.

"Uh-h… J-Joker…" Another called after him.

He stopped, turning to address the man.

"W-what should we do with them?" He pointed with his thumb to Maroni, who still sat in the corner, looking terrified, and then to Futz and the other man, huddled opposite their leader, looking just as afraid.

"Kill them." He said dispassionately, waving towards the two subordinates.

And then the Joker smiled, his eyes seeming to flash as he looked to Maroni.

"Him...? He bore his yellowed teeth in a grin, his tone suddenly chipper. "Bring him along… We'll show him a good time."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

He'd woken to the stench of rapidly decaying flesh and blood, and a wave of nausea that, when he'd first tried getting up, had nearly put him back down.

He had no idea for how long he'd been out, though he could see through the kicked in door the sky was still dark. But how he'd ended up as he was, he remembered vividly and immediately, and on reflex his hand formed to a fist and his pounded it in anger against the floor.

"How could I have been so _stupid_!" He spit to no one, inwardly reprimanding himself for having trusted the Joker. The man was a complete _psychopath_, totally insane and beyond reason. He had no idea why he'd allowed himself to ever seek the lunatic's help.

And now, _this_ was the result of his actions.

The place was filled with dead bodies, blood and bone and brain matter everywhere.

Batman knew he had to get out of there before the police came. He was lucky they hadn't already.

Surveying the room, he thought he might be sick, counting four dead men in all, six with the two out front. It was a massacre. One _he _could have prevented.

He shook his head from his thoughts of self-loathing, glancing down to find the batarangs he'd dropped, taking them up quickly when he did.

It was only then he realized Maroni was missing, and it dawned on him suddenly the Joker and his men must have taken him.

Again he felt rage boil up inside, aimed more at himself then anyone, and he went stalking in to the buildings back room, scanning the area for anything which might help him to locate the madman, knowing deep down it was a useless endeavor.

The Joker was far too careful for that, far too _smart_.

The buildings back entrance was left to hang open and Bruce knew, as they had come in through it, they too must have left the same way.

Stepping out the door, he found himself in an alleyway, situated at the buildings rear, littered with piles of trash and a long abandoned dumpster.

There was no sign of the Joker there, or Marnoi.

/

They'd taken him to some warehouse, located along Gotham's the east side docks, and after wheeling him in to the large, empty space of it, left him alone.

The Joker had disappeared before that, exiting the van before the other men, telling them they knew what to do, and Marnoi hadn't been able to see where he went.

For what seemed an eternity, he just sat there, by himself. But he knew better then to try and make a run for it. Just because he couldn't see anyone didn't mean he wasn't being watched.

And then, finally, the sound of a door opening caught his attention. He shot his gaze in the direction of where the front entrance was, feeling his heart leap in to his throat when he saw the Joker step in to view.

He'd changed his clothing, now wearing that same, purple suit, but without the sports coat and holding the body length jacket over his shoulder, a small, cardboard box in his other hand. He still was without makeup and he grinned at Maroni before starting his way towards him.

He grabbed hold of a chair from what looked to be a poker table, dragging it behind him as he came closer, the sound it made high pitched and annoying.

Finally he came to a stop, only a few, short feet from the mob boss and, bringing the chair forward, he sat, its back to Maroni, the Joker resting his forearms on it.

"Hello." He grinned.

Maroni regarded him with apparent disgust, his mouth twisting in disdain as he took in the madman's gnarled, damaged face.

And just as Batman had been, he too found himself taken aback by his captor's age, the question passing through his head of how someone so young could already be so damaged.

Of how they could already be so violent and dangerous and _smart_.

Letting his coat fall to the floor, the Joker took hold of the box he was holding in both hands, beginning to open its lid.

"I'm going to show you something." He began, his eyes drifting to the small box. "I'm going to _let _you see me…" He looked back up to Marnoi, still smiling. "put on my face."

Marnoi said nothing, watching as the Joker pulled out a container of white grease paint, along with tubes of red and black.

Using nothing but his own fingers, the lunatic began to smear the makeup along his face, not bothering with a mirror. The results were messy and uneven, at best, long streaks of flesh tone showing through, and Marnoi found himself frowning at the sight. The Joker didn't even _care _what he looked like, at all.

He was a completely animal.

Scooping up the black stuff, he began to wipe it over and around his eyes, making them look even more sunken then they really were.

"How's it look?" He asked Marnoi once he'd begun on the second eye.

The mob boss could feel his whole body tensing.

"You demented _freak_!" He spit. "You have any idea what you're messin' with here? My men are already out there, lookin' for me, and when they find me, I'm gonna personally oversee their fuckin' you up. Whoever done that to your face?" He gestured towards the madman's scars. "That ain't shit compared to what we're gonna do to you!"

For a brief moment, irritation flashed across the Joker's features, and he rolled his eyes upward.

"_Your_ men?" He said, and then he tossed the tube of black to the ground, taking up the red. "And just how many of… _your_ men do you think are left Sal, hmmm?"

Doubt crept in to the older man's features.

"More then enough to take you out, _freak_!"

Again, irritation swept over the Joker's face.

"The answer _Sal_, is none. Y'see…" He finished smearing the red across his mouth and up along the scars marring his otherwise handsome face. "They'll go wherever the money is, which, if word on the street holds true, isn't with you."

"Yeah, well, it ain't with you either clown. Not after you _burned_ it all!"

"True. But you didn't let me _finish _Sal." He said. "More important, they'll go to whoever they think has _control_. Because it makes them feel safe. Makes them feel protected. You think _anyone_ believes _you_ can protect them Sal?"

Maroni sat in silence, staring at the lunatic gape mouthed.

The Joker smirked.

"Ex_act_ly." He said, reaching forward, beginning to wipe his paint covered hands against Maroni's expensive, Italian suit.

"Y… you kill your _own men_!" The mob boss stuttered.

The Joker shrugged, continuing to wipe his hands clean.

"Why… W-why would _anyone_ want to work for you?"

"Well they won't really have much of a choiiice…" The Joker answered, looking up at him, smiling. "Not after tonight."

Maroni looked horrified.

"Get your hands _off_ of me you _freak_!" He hissed, grabbing hold of the Joker's hands and shoving them away.

The Joker frowned.

"All you people think the _same_." He said, standing abruptly. "That wasn't very nice."

And suddenly he stepped around, moving behind Maroni.

"W-what are you doing!" The mob boss stuttered, his hands moving to the chairs wheels, ready to push away.

But the Joker had grabbed hold of the handlebars, holding him in place.

Without warning, the madman lifted the chair and tipped it forward, causing Maroni to fall from it, on to the floor.

Violently, the Joker threw the wheelchair aside, stepping towards the mob boss.

Maroni was acting desperately now, trying vainly to pull himself along the floor with just the use of his arms.

"S-stay away from m-me!" He cried.

Suddenly he felt a heavy pressure, just below the base of his neck, and somehow he knew the Joker had pressed him down with his foot.

And then the lunatic was bending down, bringing his face close beside the older man's, burying a hand in his hair and lifting his head from the floor.

"Y'know what your problem is Sal?" He spoke in a sharp whisper against his ear. "Your problem _iiiss_… you're just not a _teeam playeeer_." He jerked Maroni's head up more, pulling a knife from his pant pocket and holding it close to the mobster's face. "You don't _taalk_ to people in the right sort of way."

He grinned, his tongue swiping out over his lower lip.

"You really should smile more… You'd be amazed how people respond to that."

Maroni's eyes went huge with fear as the Joker brought the blade closer.

"But don't worry." The madman went on. "I can help you with that. That's _just_ my area of expertise."

/

Maroni's screams could easily have been heard from outside the warehouse, echoing out, and fading off in to the night.

His men had been standing watch outside, some listening with expressions of nausea, others still pretending they heard nothing at all.

The Joker was more mad then them all. And a hundred times more violent, a hundred times more cruel.

None of them liked to watch when the boss was having his "fun", as he liked to call it.

It was too much, even for them.

But they stayed working for him because he paid ridiculously well.

He only ever kept enough of whatever cash they'd stolen to buy materials for his insane schemes. The rest he would give to them, to split up however they saw fit.

They reasoned that, sure, working for the madman, the risk of injury or death was high, but then, it was high in any event when you ran with the criminal underground. And the pull of money was strong. They all, more or less, were rich because of their getting to keep, at times, 90% of the take for themselves.

And they were smart enough to know they _needed_ the Joker if they wanted to maintain that kind of income. He was the one who came up with all the plans, the one who worked out how to rob all those high tech, secured banks.

The best they could hope to do on their own were dime store holdups.

For as insane as he was, the Joker was also a genius.

He understood people, he understood their nature. How their minds worked, what they feared and desired, their strengths and weaknesses. What they were inclined towards. All it took for him was a few minutes to glean everything. And he would use his ability to see in to people to then control them, push them in whichever direction he wanted, working away at their minds until they _broke_.

Everyone did their best to keep him happy, keeping their heads down and doing as they were told.

Anyone who'd ever been dumb enough to engage him in a dispute had quickly been made aware of their blunder.

The Joker was unpredictable and prone to mood swings. Sometimes, like back at the flower shop, he would simply kill, without explanation or logic. Just take out his gun and blow you away. Other times, when one of the men had upset him in some way, he would do nothing at all.

At least, it seemed that way, because what he did was so subtle.

He would show a sudden interest in whoever had crossed him, talk to them, constantly, for weeks at a time, all seemingly harmless and good natured. It appeared as nothing more then simple, genuine curiosity.

The whole time though, he would indistinctly be eroding the mental guards they had in place, making vague, seemingly innocuous suggestions, things no one else seemed to notice or pick up on.

And then, one day, whoever it had been the Joker was talking with, they would kill themselves.

No one at first could understand it, shocked at the unexpected suicide.

Everyone but the Joker, of course, who when it happened would just sort of smile before going back to whatever it was he'd been doing.

Eventually, those around him began to realize what was going on. That the Joker was actually talking these men in to killing themselves.

From then on, no one dared question the madman on his decision making or plans. They did as they were told, and prayed they didn't anger him in some way unseen.

/

Bruce had waited until dark to meet with the Commissioner, and explain to him what had happened.

The police hadn't found the blood bath in the flower shop until mid-afternoon, when a passerby had looked in and seen the dead bodies, quickly calling 911.

"What the hell's going on?" Gordon asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "We found five of Marnoi's men, _dead_, another former Arkham patient, and then Edward Melville! All dead! I thought you said Melville was our man!"

"He was." Batman answered, his voice low and dark.

"Then what!" The Commissioner pressed. "Why is he dead! Did Maroni's men kill him?"

"He was working for the Joker." The vigilante answered.

This drew a look of shock from the older man.

"What?"

"The Joker was just using him." Batman went on. "He set the whole thing up, knowing I would come to him for help. It was just another of his sick games. He killed Melville himself."

Gordon shook his head is disbelief.

"I… I don't understand." He said, turning away, his hands on his hips. "How? The Joker was locked up. From what I understand they were keeping him in solitary confinement."

"He was sending Melville messages. Notes." Batman answered. He reached his hand out, holding a stack of letters.

Gordon took them, running his eyes over them.

"I found those in his apartment. The Joker must have had someone on the inside delivering those to him."

Again Gordon shook his head.

"But who inside Arkahm would actually _do_ that for him?" He looked up, clear confusion written across his face. "No one would do that."

"The Joker is a master of manipulation." The detective said. "He's talked countless people in to doing things you never would have thought them capable of in the past. It's what he does. It's what he's best at. He knows what buttons to push, what things to say to get people to react in the ways he wants. He… he did it to me. He knew I would seek him out if another lunatic like him appeared. It was all a setup, to coax the desired reaction from me. A game. And its how he escaped, I'm sure of it."

The Commissioner looked incredulous.

"You mean to tell me you think he talked one of the guards there in to letting him _out_!"

"One of the guards. One of the doctors. It could be anyone who's had any kind of contact with him, prolonged or otherwise."

"Jesus Christ." Gordon muttered.

"You saw him do it to Dent." Batman continued. "To your own officers. To all of us when he let himself be captured. To the people of this city. You know how dangerous he is, how dangerous it is just to talk to him."

For a moment, Gordon was silent, gazing off across the city.

"He took Maroni."

Gordon brought his eyes back to him.

"How do you know all this?" He asked.

"I was there. I tried to stop it." Batman explained. "I was keeping tabs on Maroni and his men, like I told you. I spotted Melville. He killed two of Maroni's men, standing watch outside the flower shop, than went in. I went after him, to try and stop him. When I reached him, he seemed as shocked as I was by the Joker being there. And then the Joker killed him."

Batman looked away, going silent.

The older man eyed him.

"Weren't you able to do anything? To stop him?"

The vigilante shook his head.

"There were too many of his men. I wasn't thinking right. I let my anger get in the way, and they overwhelmed me because of it."

Gordon watched him, saying nothing, realizing the crusader seemed almost ashamed.

"It's… its okay." He finally said. "The Joker's smart. He's been ahead of all of us, just like before. But we'll get him again. We'll get him."

Batman said nothing, his gaze cast downwards.

Gordon sighed, feeling awkward. He wasn't used to seeing the detective like this, unsure of himself.

He supposed it was because of all that had happened in the last six months, first they're lying to the public about Harvey, then his revealing the truth, and now this whole debacle with Edward Melville and it turning out to be the Joker behind the whole thing, _again_.

Thinking it over, the Commissioner really wasn't all that surprised by Batman's reaction. That psychopathic lunatic really _did_ seem unstoppable.

He shook his head from the thought, looking back to the detective.

"So what's our next step?" He asked, trying to show he still had total faith in his friend.

Batman looked up finally, over the rooftop, across the city.

"We find him."


	7. Chapter 7

**So, this chapter's ridiculously short guys. I'm sorry about that. But I promise the next one will be longer!**

**Chapter 7:**

By the time the Joker had emerged from the warehouse, the sun had already begun to rise.

The screaming had gone on for hours, only beginning to lessen and finally cease altogether in the last half hour. Making it worse had been the Joker's insane laughter, heard just as clearly and lasting just as long.

Some of the men hadn't been able to stand it, leaving their posts, wandering away.

The one's who'd stayed gazed upon their employer with looks of sickness, trying their best to conceal it.

He was absolutely laden in blood, his forearms and hands looking as though they'd been airbrushed red, smatterings of crimson dots littered across his white face paint and soaking in his hair.

Some eventually had to turn their eyes away.

The Joker regarded them, his face expressionless.

"Get rid of it." He said, his tone flat.

And then he moved past them, towards the van.

/

When Batman had arrived at Arkham, the scene there had been one of pure chaos. Four guards dead, one orderly killed.

Everyone was in a state of shock, crying, stunned in to silence, shaking their heads in disbelief.

No one had thought to check the security tapes until well after the vigilante suggested it, and as Bruce had thought, they showed him being let out of his cell by one of guards who worked there. That guard was among the dead, his murder caught on tape as the madman snapped his neck the moment he was free.

Bruce had felt a chill run up his spine when after killing the man, the Joker looked up, directly in to the security camera, and smiled before relieving the guard of his billy club and skipping off down the corridor, whistling some tune.

From what those who had witnessed the mayhem told, the lunatic had apparently taken the lift up to the ground floor and proceeded directly to seek out the three guards usually charged with his handling.

Apparently, the moment the Joker had been seen by the asylum staff, the place had erupted in hysterics, people running and screaming, no one thinking to try and apprehend him, all too frightened.

It had been found the man keeping watch of the security footage had fallen asleep, and so was left totally unaware of what transpired in the solitary confinement wing.

The Joker found the three guards, taking their break in the rec. room, watching some show on TV, laughing.

He'd come up fast behind them, and they'd remained unaware of his presence until he cracked the night stick across the back of one of their heads. The man had fallen forward, the other two jumping to their feet in shock, and panic ensued quickly among them.

The Joker never gave them a chance to retaliate, coming at them with a quick and vicious efficiency, raking the billy across one man's face, then the other, putting all three down in less then 30 seconds. And then he bludgeoned them to death, swinging the club down, across their skulls repeatedly until they no longer moved.

The place had been covered in their blood and bone fragments.

The dead orderly had been a man in his early thirties, unfortunate enough to have been in the Joker's path as he exited the asylum.

His neck too had been snapped.

All this happened in under five minutes, backup not arriving until well after the Joker was gone.

The entire thing was a disaster, and Batman knew, the moment the media caught wind of everything, the city was going to fall in to panic.

He was on the verge himself.

The Joker being out and free was the worst possible scenario in his mind. The last time he'd been so, Bruce had lost almost everything. The madman had invaded his life in a way no one ever had before, ripping it to shreds. He'd caused utter chaos in Gotham, driving people to acts born of desperation and fear, robbing them of their hope.

Batman had barely been able to find him in the end, having himself to resort to what only could be described as highly unethical measures.

The Joker was absurdly intelligent. He seemed always to be ten steps ahead of everyone else, knowing how people would react, and when. And so he would elude capture, all the while mocking those who sought it.

The first time he'd been caught, he'd _planned_ for it, it only coming about because he wished it so.

And he'd made them all look the fool then, having played every single one of them with what seemed ridiculous ease only to go back out in to the city to cause exponentially more damage.

The Joker was the worst, most dangerous person Bruce had ever faced, and as he left Arkham, a sinking feeling of despair consumed him as he realized he didn't have a clue as to where to start looking.

/

The Joker bent slightly down, his tongue stuck at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted the height of the camera.

When he was satisfied he pressed record and turned from it, striding halfway across the room.

He was in an abandoned tenement, several miles from where he'd left his boys back at the warehouse, and was now alone.

"Gooood evening Gotham!" He spoke enthusiastically to the camera. "You're probably all _wondering_ what _I'm_ doing on your TV screens, hmm? 'Wasn't he locked away in that spooky asylum?' You're no doubt asking yourseeelves. _Well_…" He smiled. "Since I'm sure no ones, uh, _told _you, after all, we know how Gotham's finest just love keeping things under wraps…" He moved closer to the camera. "I'm _not_." He chuckled. "And isn't that just _thrilling_ news? We get to pick back up onall those _fun_, little games we started but never did get a chance to finish."

The madman gave an exaggerated pout.

"I have to say, I was a tad disappointed in our last game together… I suppose it's because I wasn't allowed to make myself _clear_. Oh, I was close though! You don't _know_ how close. Only… a certain _partner in crime_ kept me from pushing the button." He smirked. "But then, I came even closer to pushing _his_. Didn't I _Batman_?"

The Joker turned from the camera then, walking away from it.

"Maybe my name caused a mis_judgment_ of my intentions, but I promise you, I wasn't _joking _when I said I'd blow both boats _sky high_."

He turned back to face it.

"Like I said, I wasn't given a chance to make myself clear. _So_, I suppose, you people will have to be _shown_, and when you realize your lives really _are _on the line, well, we'll see just how _noble _you really are."

He stepped closer to the recorder.

"_Oh_, a little message to all you _Mafioso_ out there. I tooold you this town was mine now. And I meant it. Maroni is dead. I killed him myself, just a short time ago. If you want to be part of the game…" He smiled, his scars twisting grotesquely. "Then you play for me."

The madman pushed his face close to the lens of the camera.

"No rules Gotham. Anything goooooes."

And he laughed insanely then, reaching out, shutting the camera off.

Indeed, he had great plans for this city. Great plans indeed.

They'd all find out, soon enough.


End file.
